Connected: Part 4 of the On The Edge Series

Chapter 21

"It was daddy, right? You met him in college?"

"Well, actually no; his name was Peter."

"What?"

"He's still in the area, a lawyer," she mused to herself.

"But wait, what about daddy?"

"Well, I've never been much of an avid music fan, but a friend of mine wanted to go to the record store to pick up some new album. Anyway, I was looking at some Elvis album, and your dad was flipping through records. When I laid my eyes on that man, I knew everything was wrong with my relationship with Peter. I just adored your father, and he seemed pretty smitten with me, even though we had next to nothing in common." A laugh slipped from her lips.

I just looked on at her, lost in the memory as tears pricked the corner of my eyes.

"I tried to convince myself that Peter was the man for me. We were very stable and calm." She then leveled her eyes at me. "And so boring I could cry just thinking about him." She smiled warmly as she brushed a tendril of hair behind my ear. "Love isn't always easy and never perfect, but it is always worth it. You two will be fine."

Something about her words hardened my resolve. Love wasn't easy, but loving Billy was worth it. I just had to remember that and, as Timmy pointed out, stick around.

"Thanks, Mom," I murmured as I continued to dry a plate.

A few minutes later, Billy joined us. "May I cut in?" He asked my mom. "I'm quite savvy with dishes."

"That's not what Mary tells me," I teased.

"I promise to be on my best behavior." His dimples appeared as he brushed the hair out of his eyes.

"Well, how can I refuse a man a chance to show off his best behavior," my mom said as she dried her hands. "I'll leave you two to it," she added before escaping to the dining room.

"So," Billy began as he took his watch off and dove into the sink of dishes. "You got quiet when we told your mom."

"I did," I agreed.

"May I ask why?"

"It felt..." I tried to collect my thoughts before giving up with "terrible."

"Terrible?" Billy's tone was even, but I knew I had driven a stake into his heart.

"It just didn't feel right without my dad," I added.

Billy silently nodded.

"I thought you'd come to find me in his clubhouse," I added.

Billy again stayed silent for longer than I expected. I found my gaze clinging to his profile.

"When I first started in music, I used to think of what things would be like," he began. "I'd imagine what it'd be like to sell out a big show or win some award. And then, they started happening, and, to be honest, they were pretty lame."

"Lame?" I giggled.

"Yeah. I've played sold-out arenas, and it's much more disconnected than the smaller stages I started out playing. I've won awards, and it's all very contrived. But the moments that stick with me are small moments that sink into my brain and grow."

"Sink in your brain and grow?"

"Mmhmm, like when I was a kid, I heard Whole Lotta Love for the first time. I think about it a lot; that riff just grew inside me. It made me want to do that, music."

"Once, you told me you didn't have a Get Back moment. It sounds like you did," I teased.

"I suppose I did. It felt different from you connecting with your dad through Get Back. Although, that's another one that stuck with me. I was so early in my career, and I was still figuring out music. I knew it was important, but I couldn't articulate why. That story of you and your dad in the car, that's music; it connects people. All these facets of life are very black and white; you get a job, you do these tasks, you eat, you breathe, science, medicine. It's all straightforward to float along, but then something happens. You lose someone you love, or you find someone you love. It throws you, and you just wander around for a bit, thinking you're the only one that has ever felt that way. Then you hear a song or see a painting, and it's just like that guy gets it. Or a dad is listening to a song in the car with his daughter, and suddenly they're in the same headspace."

"I've never thought of art that way," I mused. "It connects us, doesn't it?"

"It's emotional. It's not facts or numbers. Fears and desires are what it's about." The room fell silent for a moment before Billy continued. "But sometimes, I don't want a moment. I don't want to know."

"What?"

"I know," guilt filled his voice. "Maybe I'm avoiding something, but I choose to think I'm protecting something."

"What are you protecting?" I prodded.

"You know, your dad was almost always in his clubhouse when we spoke. I'd hear him flipping through albums, and different songs come on in the background. It was a thing for me, trying to guess what song he'd play and why he chose it. It made me feel like I was getting my chess matches with him. I have this really clear place in my mind, your dad's clubhouse. It's like I've been there a hundred times. It has a warmth to it and a smell; the visual is just there. I love that place. If I go up there, it will take away the place I love. It will become a fact; sometimes, I don't want the facts. I want to love what I have in my mind."

"Do you think that's us? Do you think we love these people we've created in our minds, and now that we are here, it's just not..."

I couldn't finish; the crash of a plate falling into the sink silenced my words just as much as the urgency in Billy's eyes.

"No, I do not think that. That's absolutely not what I was saying." Billy's hands grasped my shoulders with more strength than he intended. His fingertips dug into me, sending a surge of pain down my torso. "Do you think that?"

"I... I..." thoughts swirled in my head. My mom meeting my dad in a record store. Love being hard. The first moment I laid eyes on Billy beneath a streetlight. "I love you. For a fact, I love you. I love you differently than anyone else in my life."

Billy pulled me to his chest, and I broke. Painful cracks that I had ignored for weeks suddenly spilled open, but Billy was there to catch me. His hand calmly smoothed over my hair.

"Billy," I whispered as I slightly pulled away from him. "Please, can we just stop trying?"

"What?" His voice cracked from above me.

"I love you, and you love me."

"Yes." His hands urgently slipped to the side of my face as his gaze coursed over me.

"So we don't need to try. That's it; we love each other. I'm in love with you. I've always been in love with you. We don't need to try; we don't need to figure anything out. We need to lead with care and live. There's no trying anymore; there's just living. We may not always be happy, but you always have me. That's the only fact we need to know."

"That's the only fact we need to know," he agreed as he pulled me into his arms.

"Billy, I'm not happy right now, but it's not because of you," I murmured into his chest.

"I know; I miss him too." He peeled me from him to add, "if it ever is me, you'll tell me, right?"

"Yes, and you'll tell me when I make you feel sad or frustrated. I don't want to find what you are feeling from a song. I want you to tell me, and we can go from there. No more trying."

"No more trying," he agreed, with a gentle kiss on my forehead. "And this time, we mean it." A slight jolt in his chest revealed that a silent laugh rolled through him.